Joy Moment


Letterpress printed on a hand carved, linoleum block, this is a seven-pass reduction cut plus one pass for metal type.

Artwork size: 9 x 10.25″
Paper size: 10.75 x 14″
Signed and numbered edition of 60
Archival paper
Ships in clear sleeve in a sturdy flat package.


I hiked somewhere around 280 miles of the Washington section of the PCT with a couple of friends and my dog the summer of 2015. The events that inspired this print took place somewhere close to northbound PCT mile 2398 and are summed up in the words of fellow-hiker Leah Adang-Fry:

It had started raining half an hour ago. We heard it first, tiny applause against the leaves, then a steady thick drip that got into every crevice, crease, and pocket. The tree roots that reached across the path were shiny and dark, hiding deceptive little pools of muddy ankle deep water. I could hear my friends, around the last corner, laughing and sliding on the soaked trail. I continued trudging steady and slow up the snaking switchbacks, lost in an annoyed conversation with myself for having chosen the wrong path that morning (we had picked up 9 extra miles, 6 of which were uphill, and we were definitely off schedule). I leaned into the looping corners, watching water bubble out of the ground beneath the weight of my tread and my home on my back. My snail shell backpack, bundled and heavy, my life in carefully planned sections. I could feel the hemlocks leaning over me, filtering already filtered light, shrouds of sacred green and grey, silent monks in mossy prayer. I shifted my pack a fraction, and continued on, head tilted so the raindrops slid off the tip of my nose and not down my neck. The girls had almost caught up to me, finally, they must have noticed the waning light and sped up.

Then we turned the corner and everything changed.

The world seemed to spin outward into vast openness. A valley poured out in front of us, all rivers and forests and stone, and then more valleys beyond. A galaxy of churning clouds and orbiting mountain peaks drifted before us. The sun threw rays of angled light at everything that was both intimate and glorious, dusting the billowing clouds a dreamy pink, the stuff of fairytales and floating castles. The hairs on my body shivered and reached out toward the soaring views before me. I felt huge and magical, tiny and special, like this moment had been waiting for us. The height we had just fought for, laid out for us like a gift, like a promise. I turned to see the faces of my friends beside me, eyes bright, lips parted, faces golden, and knew they felt it too. My pack slid off my back to the ground at my feet and my heart rose.

– Leah Adang-Fry